Musings
by Konnie-chan
Summary: TatsumixTsuzuki. This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but I rather fancy it. So I'm posting it. No real summary possible because, again, it's lacking in the sense department. If you fancy it too, though, don't feel ashamed to review it.


**MUSINGS**

Tsuzuki is not slacking, but he's not working either. He's had years and years to master a perfect balance between sloth and pretense. With his head resting in his palm, elbow resting in his desk, and the rest of him resting- slouching- on his chair, Tsuzuki's eyes skim through the files in front of him, frowning in deep concentration. What is the focus of such focus is anyone's guess, since there's not a sane person in JuOhCho who could possibly believe it is the details of the case. It would be debatable whether or not there is such sane person in JuOhCho, however.

Tatsumi, who has also had years and years to master his own balance of pretense and derangement, certainly appears to be closer to sanity than the majority of his coworkers. It is, let it be noted, a majority of pretense. A decoy that is not to be abandoned at any moment, given that everyone knows he's crazy, except himself, who is, as everyone knows, the only person Tatsumi ever cares about deceiving. He puts an enormous amount of effort at it and no one has ever caught him at catching himself on the lie.

Tsuzuki does care about deceiving others, but he is not exceptionally successful- though he is, mind you, very good at fooling himself as well. Tatsumi can tell, from his spot by the office's door, that Tsuzuki could be interrogated at gunpoint about the contents of the files he's so diligently reading and wouldn't even have enough presence of mind to realize a gun wouldn't present enough threat to him, less alone account for said contents. It is of little to no importance at that point, as his wrist watch shows the second hand methodically approaching climax, and with it, the change of the hour. What hour? Lunch hour, of course, and the moment the hand peaks, Tsuzuki's eyes leave the paper with a precision that is in the most part scary, since the man has never paid any heed to the watch residing his own wrist.

There is something to be said about the dexterity Tsuzuki has to switch from one source of deep concentration to the next, though it could also be argued that his spans of concentration are usually as deep as they are short-lived. Attention deficit disorder aside, food is now Tsuzuki's every thought and prompt of action, and Tatsumi watches the man leave his desk with not so much as a second glance to his papers. And one could easily argue about Tatsumi's sanity, but no one in their right mind, or their wrong one, would dare say anything about his wits. The blue eyed man will never dare come between Tsuzuki and his food, so he follows him silently through the hall to the break room and he doesn't doubt the amethyst eyed man is yet to notice his presence.

There is nothing remotely stalkerish about the way he follows him, though. There is a valid amount of purpose to his pursuit and a certain amount of confidence derived in the validation Tsuzuki has proportioned to his stalking. Aware or not that he is there, he's aware that he's said he would, might, perchance be there, sometimes. There being wherever Tsuzuki was, and sometimes being every time he could. There is no surprise in those amethyst eyes when they finally rest on him, when they finally reach the break room, after Tsuzuki's skillful fingers have already selected, dissected and nimbly transported a healthy amount of pastries to be ingested. A lack of surprise that leaves Tatsumi with a sense of dull relief, since he's never quite sure if Tsuzuki would remember their arrangement, or if he had heard right when he'd heard the first, second, third time, or any other time that might have followed since, for once, he's lost count. No surprise, only a sugar coated smile, in no figurative sense.

And he has to, really, because there's nothing cute about a grown man that looks a fourth of his real age and still looks old enough, with sugar frosting smeared all across his old enough face. Nothing cute, nor tempting, because Tatsumi has never been fond of cuteness and is not particularly friendly towards temptation. But there is an arrangement now, you see? One that he's not entirely sure outside the endless inventive of his productive imagination, but alas, an arrangement. And really, he's just washed his handkerchief and who knows when he's wont to clean his nose, he'd rather much do it in a sugar free cloth. And while he isn't one to have dessert before the actual meal has been consumed, he's mildly proud of himself and his boldness as the sweetness stimulates his tongue. He will remember it later, that spending a little more on quality pastries rather than cheap artificial concoctions is decisively more satisfying in the long run, hence more likely to cause the staff to eat less of them.

**OWARI **


End file.
